A Smell of Cotton, A Smell of Death
by Blankoh00
Summary: Frisk has just fallen into the Underground, and now Toriel has just introduced him to the training Dummy. She wants him to talk, but Frisk's village raised him to fight objects like it. It's a one-shot about how Frisk lost his self to the genocide run. I hope you enjoy. OC is the Mad Dummy's cousin, the Dummy in the Ruins.


"This, is a Dummy." Toriel said as she led Frisk into another room in the Ruins, a strange, purple cave deep in the infamous Mt. Ebott. Walking through the convoluted Ruins, it gave Frisk time to think, not really focusing on most of the things Toriel was saying. And now, after having a good time to think about his situation, he realized how... How messed up it was. He was dared by his best friend to climb the mountain, although, 'dare' made his friend sound innocent. It was more blackmail than a dare. Then, as he was fulfilling the actual dare, he had fallen into what his village called 'The Cave Of Seven Kids'. A demonic flower had tried to kill him, and he was now following the fluffy goat-lady-thing that saved him from the aforementioned flower. Well, at least he'd have something to tell his village, assuming he could get out.

And Frisk knew what it was, but he had learned that it would be pointless to point it out. He let out an annoyed sigh and stepped up to battling distance to the life-sized doll. It was about the size of him, not too tall, just not too short. It reminded him of home, filling him with a small bit of DETERMINATION as he remembered.

Every age-group used their own Dummy differently, and almost every kid had one. Some parents would buy new ones, their old one too beaten up. Some would hand them down, assuming it was still in good enough condition. Kids would dress it up, punch on it, and do any other stupid childish thing they could do, whilst teens would beat it up, letting out any hormonal rage on it. As for the adults, they'd usually get a bigger Dummy, dressing it up in armor as they practiced fighting on it with whatever weapon they wanted to use.

He pulled the stick he had out from between his belt and pants, getting into the fighting stance his father once told him how to do. It seemed stupid, but Frisk knew it would be useful. His father was a great warrior back in the village. He was, until he was challenged by the village's leader. Toriel looked at him oddly. "My child, what are you doing?" She quickly realized his intentions, and she let out a little laugh. "Oh child, the Dummy isn't for hitting."

Frisk gave her a confused look. "B-But it's a Dummy! You're supposed to hit it." He said, readying himself. Toriel started to give him an hour long lecture about how you're not supposed to beat-up this inanimate object, but he ignored her, rushing at the Dummy and slamming at it with his full body weight. His speed, force, and weight snapped the pillar that was in the cloth covered, cotton stuffed Dummy. Frisk felt his head smash into the wall, knocking him out for a few minutes. He soon came to, still in the same place, his head ringing and sore, with Toriel standing in her corner, looking very shocked. "Ow..."

Toriel couldn't utter a single word, and she simply left, taking her a few seconds to stumble out of there. Frisk let out a groan, getting up slowly. His vision blurring out for a few seconds. He looked at the broken Dummy, smiling. "Yeah! Ow..." He rubbed his head, the 'yeah' making it ring. "Take, that.."

"WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY!?" A thundering, booming voice coming from the broken Dummy made him fall back down, clutching his head desperately to cease the pain in his cranium. Between the explosions of pain in his head and the yelling of the Dummy, he began to slowly process the fact that a Dummy was violently yelling at him.

Well, he already encountered a murderous flower and a goat woman. This was nothing.

Frisk felt the ringing ease up, giving him the muscle control to sit up. "LOOK WHAT YOU DID! LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID YOU BASTARD!" The life-sized doll continued to swear at him, using worse and worse words as he went on. Frisk soon could barely stand it, shushing him after a few minutes. "SHUSH!? SHUSH! YOU WANT ME TO SHUSH?! YOU JUST DESTROYED MY HOME AND YOU WANT ME TO SHUSH!" Frisk nodded, despite him knowing it was a rhetorical question. Then, a small, upside down SOUL, pure white, floated out of the Dummy. And, without warning, it burst into Dust, scattering, some of it landing onto Frisk's shoulder. It was an odd substance, sticky upon his sweater, but not on his skin. In fact, it seemed to fade on his flesh, and the smell. It was familiar, a smell hinting of everything that reminded him of a feeling. A mother's scent, followed by the smell of burning wood. It made him want to sneeze his nose off and sniff it more and more until he couldn't breath. The mixes made his head spin, until it all finished, and the dust was merely a pile on the ground.

And as he slowly realized what he did, a smile that wasn't his crept onto his face, the ringing, soreness, and any pain gone. Every feeling, emotion, even every memory he had of the village, his family, and his friends slipped away, not gone, just fogged. In their place, an extreme thirst for more of this, this Dust, filled it. He stood up, clutching his stick with his hands firmly, and following the goat woman, her name no longer important. He had a feeling that she had more, and that was the most important thing to him.

And, with all of this in him now, he grasped onto a name he would take as his own now.

Chara.


End file.
